It's Always 'To Be Continued'
by My Forgotten Dream
Summary: Amy Fleming is new to Jefferson. When she meets the outcast among outcasts, Ty Baldwin, will they manage their way through assumptions and Ty's senior year alive? Slightly AU/OOC. Joint story between My Forgotten Dream and ilovetk. Full summary inside.
1. I Hate These Socks

**A/N: Hey, hey, hey! This is My Forgotten Dream, with something new for the Heartland section. Ever head of a joint story? Well, ilovetk and I decided to create our own. So here's how it works. I will be working on Ty's POV while ilovetk will be working on Amy's. We have no clue what either of us are writing. When the chapters are posted, we must go off of the former chapter to write one of our own. The fun thing about it is, we've both got completely different writing styles, character personalities, and ideas of how we want this story to go. Now, ilovetk, show me what you've got!**

**It's Always 'To Be Continued'**

**Summary: Young Amy Fleming is new to Jefferson. She knows no one but her grandfather and the horses on their horse farm, Heartland. Ty Baldwin, on the other had, knows practically everyone in the small horse town - but, do any of them know him? He's the outcast among the outcasts and there's always room for change. When assumptions are made and danger strikes, will they make it through Ty's senior year with both their heads? Slightly AU/OOC. Joint story between My Forgotten Dream and ilovetk.**

**Chapter One**

**I Hate These Socks**

Ty Baldwin's POV:

I stared blankly across the room. I had zoned out a few minutes ago. The teacher had been blabbing on and on about the physics involved in the levitation of a magnet over a high-temperature superconductor. To me, that was easier than typical seventh grade algebra. The simplicity of it did little to boggle my mind.

My eyelids drooped slightly as I gazed into space. I'm positive my eyes had glazed over as my mind wandered over an array of thoughts. The first one that came to mind was a question I seemed to ask myself quite often.

_Why am I here?_ The answer you ask? Ha. I still hadn't figured that out yet. The people surrounding me… most of them thought the same thing from time to time when it came to the hell most people liked to call high school. But, when they asked themselves that question, they had logical alternatives. I, on the other had, had none.

I was, what you call, a leper. I was usually avoided, ignored, and stared at like my cranium had tripled in size and split down the center to reveal a tiny mythical unicorn of some sort.

I don't know why. It obviously wasn't my inexistent charm or good looks. My wavy, deep brown hair wasn't something marveled at, nor were my large, green eyes. My strong jaw line and high cheekbones weren't as amazing as the ones you found on the jocks running around with their fingers stuffed where the sun don't shine. My typical every-day attire didn't make me look any better, either. My tin rimmed glasses, khaki pants, button down shirt, and bright green high top converse didn't draw me much attention.

Speaking of my bright green converse, I had realized my eyes were now drawn to my large sneakers. The white rubber side wall was dirtied and worn from use. I had been labeled 'fag' for wearing them, but I couldn't care less. They are men's shoes, but simply because they're neon green and they look like limes, they are for gay guys.

If I weren't already completely out of it, I would have snorted and scuffed me shoe along the ground before my cramped desk.

"Mr. Baldwin?" My head snapped up from where my forehead rested upon the heel of my hand to look towards the voice that called my name. I realized quite suddenly that I had been scratching stick-figure fight scenes all over my notebook for nearly an hour now.

Ms. Achers was standing before my desk, her tiny anorexic frame hunched over my lab desk, looking down at my beautiful art work. I started at her, not giving a damn about my glasses that slipped over my nostrils after being disheveled by my sudden, jerky movements.

"Yes, ma'am?" I asked. My deep voice rumbled quietly past my slightly parted lips as I continued to stare at her. I had a way of making a fool of myself in front of the class and most of the student population.

Ms. Achers still looked over my carelessly drawn pictures a displeased frown forming on her lips. One had formed on my own mere second before as I took in the awkward position. I was slumped over my notebook still, my long arms planted on either side of the young, redhead teacher. Too make it all the worse, she stood between my outstretched legs that nearly doubled the length of the suddenly very short desk.

I swallowed past the lump that had grown within my threat and straitened up so our heads were no longer nearly touching. My fingers pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I cleared my throat.

The too-young-to-look-like-a-teacher female returned to her full height as she looked at me with her eyebrow raised. "Well, Ty, would you mind staying after class to teach me how to draw such beautiful stick figures?"

I blinked and slowly nodded my head. It wasn't as if I had much of anything better to do. Not that being yelled at by someone who I could easily toss a good ten yards was any better than wasting the rest of my senior year hiding in the library.

I lifted my gaze from the small woman and glanced around the room. Most of the class was mentally drawing me a dunce hat and laughing. Most of them knew nothing about me and what I did in my spare time. One a few knew anything about me. Then again, all they remember is little, odd-ball Ty from elementary school.

Junior high and brought upon a feeling of lonesomeness, which I soon embraced. I had always been quiet, but it had developed into a new extreme by the time I reached the eighth grade. I enjoyed the silence and solitude of the quiet, nearly vacant library.

It didn't take long for the gossip among those of a new school to start. People found it odd that I rarely participated, yet got some of the highest grades. They also found some dirty things to say about me about two weeks in to my freshman year. I realized one day when I found an upside down triangle and male reproduction organs drawn across my locker in sharpie, that one of the many theories they had was homosexuality…

After spending several lunches scrubbing my locker clean, I had picked up on another set of newly formulated stories. My favorite one had to have been the one that said I came from California after I had raped several girls. Fortunately, I knew that it wasn't true. Unfortunately, I couldn't talk to most of the believers without being screamed at, kicked, or slapped.

The shrill ring of the bell made me look up at the clock hanging on the wall. The alarm was merely the signal that nutrition had started. I had twenty minutes before I had to slink off to my creative writing class.

As the other students flooded from the class room, I received a few hard smacks upon my back as others muttered 'stupid', 'looser', 'crack head', and such.

I looked towards Ms. Achers who move towards the door of the adjoining office. She waved me over before disappearing into the small room. I sighed and hefted my backpack from the ground. The backs of my legs forced the stool back as I stood up to my full height. Six foot two was pretty impressive compared to a good majority of the tiny freshmen that had begun last semester.

I shuffled over to the office that had become oddly familiar over the past few months. I had spent near hours locked up in the room, trying to weasel my way out of explaining why I'm so anti-social, why I can't get along with anyone in class, or why I lack the ability to pay attention.

I doubt Ms. Achers enjoyed this constant questioning any more than I did. After refusing repeatedly to consult one of the school's counselors, she had taken it into her own hands.

"So, Ty, why were you ignoring the lesson today?" My expressive eyes became hooded as the lids sagged slightly. I collapsed onto the small love seat stuffed into the corner of the cramped room, glancing at her. She stood behind her desk with a cup of coffee, and from the looks of it, that had been sitting there all morning.

I shrugged my broad shoulders as I settled into the all too small piece of furniture. "I'm just tired." I answered. I was horrible at lying and she already knew that. The way my eyes flickered when I lied often gave me away, not that I minded.

I looked up at the wall, staring back at the angry chimp wearing glasses and wielding a ruler. The furry creature glared at me with an unexplained fervor. My eyes were too lazy to focus upon the script on the poster.

Ms. Achers cleared her throat from somewhere beside me. I turned my head so my eyes could meet hers. She was turned away from me, shuffling through the papers on her large maple-wood desk. "Well, Mr. Baldwin, seeing that you're lacking enthusiasm today," She turned around and held out a school schedule chart. I looked at her questioningly as I pinched the corner of the paper between my fingers and slipped it from her hand. "why not put on some school spirit and show a new student around. Her name's Amy Fleming. Sure, she's a lower class man, but would it kill you to actually make a friend for once?"

My free hand pushed my glasses up to the top of my head as I read the paper. "Yes, yes it would," I mumbled absently as I read over the paper. Ms. Acher's words rung in my head as I looked over the schedule. _We share creative writing._

I looked up from the paper at the teacher standing before me. "She's a tenth grader. She has classes on the opposite side of the school. How am I supposed to make that trip?" My questioning tone was flat, though that's usually how I spoke. It often sounded odd hearing my own voice speak so many sentences in one sitting.

"That's up to you, Mister Baldwin. Don't ruin the first day back for both you and Miss Fleming." Ms. Achers spun on her heel and moved through the door way. "C'mon, Mister Baldwin! Amy mustn't be late to her next class!"

I sighed and pushed myself up from the old couch. I pulled my heavy-weight winter coat up from the back of the couch. My grey field jacket slipped over my broad shoulders as I shrugged it on. The winter snow fall had picked up the night before, leaving me dressed in layers of clothing. My brother had forced me to put of knee high socks before I left the house. I never knew someone so careless and irresponsible can actually care enough to force me to put on thick, wooly argyle socks. _Ugh, I hate these socks._

He acted more like my mother than my actual mother had. I had slung one strap of my backpack over my shoulder as I had left the miniature office, leaving my fingers to work on the zipper and buttons.

I stopped dead in my tracks as I laid my eyes upon Miss Fleming. _Dear Lord… _I blinked my eyes several times as I let my bright eyes drink her in. I dug furiously for my composure behind the practically impenetrable mask that had become my expression many years ago. _Beautiful._

**A/N My Forgotten Dream: Whoa! Three and a half pages! Cool. XP Any who, like it, love it, hate it? Tell me. I know it's not much, but I wrote this while blabbing away with Ms. Ilovetk. Blame it on her friend, James.**


	2. The Perfect Song

**Chapter Two**

**The Perfect Song**

Amy Fleming POV:

_Good Lord, I'm in hell._

That single thought had filled my head for about twenty minutes as I sat in the "waiting room," or so it was called, outside the principal's office. The room was small, almost a cramped-kind of-small, with pale blue walls covered in annoying motivational posters. Against the south wall, beside a door with the principal's name etched across the window, was a large desk, clearly made out of fake wood, behind which sat a tried-looking secretary whom I swore was going to fall asleep over her paperwork. A filing cabinet hosting an over grown green plant sat beside the desk. Against the east and part of the north walls were a collection of hard, black plastic and chrome steel chairs, which only three students, myself included, sat at. In the far east corner was a metal bookshelf piled high with papers and books I couldn't name from a distance, and an extremely out of place antique grandfather clock. It reminded me of my grandfather's house, even my own house back home, except...well, ours' looked better.

I thought about my homeroom teacher, Mr. Jakes, an extremely tall, extremely thing man apparently reaching middle age, and how he had completly dismissed my questions on where the hell my first classes were, and the quarterback-like _freshman_who I had been seated next to, not to mention the Britney Spears clone sitting on my other side. Oh so maturely, a number of "ohs" and practically cat calls had rippled throughout the room when I had been called down to the office during the morning announcements, and Mr. Jakes had only made the effort to calm the class down when I had given him an irritated death glare.

I glanced at the clock on the far side of the room. Three more minutes since last time I had checked. What was the point of making me late on my first day just to introduce yourself as the principal? I didn't like being late; people stared at you when you were late, and I didn't like being stared at. Lord only knew it was gonna happen any way, though.

My fingers smoothed over the metal of my iPod as I stared at in my lap, my backpack, loaded down with more textbooks than I could have imagined I would need, sat on the chair beside me, successfully keeping other students that came in periodically from sitting down next to me. I stared down at the iPod screen, glowering at the brilliantly handsome face of my favorite artist, his smile, which normally made me drool, now making me angry as I watched the album cover practically dancing before me. That smile was _way_ to chipper for how I felt this morning.

_I see her layin' by the poolside every day_

_She ain't got a lot on, she ain't got a lot to say_

I grimaced, despite the tune being one of my favorites, and quickly changed the song.

_State the obvious, I didn't get my perfect fantasy_

_I realized you love yourself more than you could ever love me_

Ah, no. The last thing I needed right now was to hear about some famous singer's relationship problems. Damn it, why the hell couldn't I find a song that fit my mood?!

I let the song play for a second as I looked up at the clock again. Great, I was going to miss my science class, and probably whatever I had second period, too, if I was kept any longer. Wonderful. A few seats down, I noticed a girl the secretary had early addressed as "Ms. Grant," had moved over at least a seat or two. I could only guess she was there for a severe dress code violation. Her shirt was outrageously short, barely coming half way down to her thighs, and her thight T-shirt was threatening to rip right down the front. I was also having a hard time telling whether or not there were four of five coats of mascara on her eyes.

_If you feel so empty_

_So used up, so let down_

_You're not the only one_

_Refusing to back down_

...Okay, I might be upset about this whole forcefully being moved nearly half way across the country thing, but I was no where near starting a riot.

"Ms. Fleming?"

I smacked the pause button twice before the song finally turned off, and looked over at the secretary. She only stared at me before I took a moment to roll my eyes and stood up, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and stuffing my iPod into the front pocket as I walked over to the desk.

"Second period is about to start, so why don't you head on to your next class?" the secretary, whose name was Mrs. Elaine, according to her plaque, told me. "You have Geometery in room 121, with Mr. Sullivan, correct?"

I nodded an affirmative.

"121 is here on the first floor, right down the hall," Mrs. Elaine pointed to her right, though I could only look at a cat dangling helplessly from a tree limb on one of the posters. "And after Geometery, you'll need to go to Mrs. Achers room to meet your guide."

"My guide?" I questioned.

"Yes, we have a senior who has offered to show you around the school today."

"Okay, then. Where is Mrs. Achers' room?"

After the secretary had told me where the classroom was, somewhere on the second floor, if I heard her correctly, I headed out of the office and down the hall to my right. The stark white walls were barely visible behind row after row of light green lockers, many of them missing locks. Fishing wire held paintings on canvas and sketches on white paper over the lockers, amazing drawings I only wished I could do. Maybe I focused too much on my writing...

Lost in thought, I almost walked right into the door for Room 121. A dark blue poster covered most of the large window, but I couldn't read what the black lettering on it said very clearly. I knocked on the door after a moment's hesitation, and was met by a tall older man with gray hair and large bifocals.

"Mr. Sullivan?" I questioned, a littler frightened by him for some reason.

Wordlessly, the teacher stepped aside, allowing me into the room. I assumed that was a yes. As I followed him into the classroom, I was actuely aware of the handful of other students staring at me, but tried to ignore it.

"Amy Fleming, correct?" Mr. Sullivan looked at me over the top of his glasses.

"Yes," I nodded.

"You'll be sitting in the back of the room there," he pointed at a desk practically stuffed into the corner, "until I'm able to squeeze you into the seating chart." I suddenly felt fat.

"Yes, sir," I took the worksheet he handed me, my eyes glancing over the difficult-appearing problems as I walked back to the seat he had assigned me. I slid into the chair, dropping my backpack to the floor. Placing the sheet on my desk, I quickly grabbed a pencil from a pocket somewhere on my pack and scribbled my name across the top of the paper before turning my attention to the front of the room. I could barely see behind a tall, broad-shouldered student who I could only guess played sports.

Barely able to see or hear, from that far back in the room, I wasn't quite sure what was going on in the class until the beg only what seemed like minutes later. I had gotten a few of the problems done, incorrectly, I assumed, but guessed I could just ask some one for help later. Shoving the paper carelessly into the pocket among my textbooks, I remembered that I had to meet my guide in Mrs. Achers' room, and flew out of the class.

_212...212...212...Ah! 212!_

The door was closed, and I debated on whether to knock or just walk in. Noticing that pretty much every one was in the hall, I decided on the latter, and quietly slid open the door. The room held about eight long, black-topped tables with two tall metal stools at each, a large teacher's desk at the front of the room behind an out-of-place white board - and this desk actually looked like real wood. I glanced at the posters that covered the walls as I walked down the center aisle towards the front of the room. It sort of reminded me of the classrooms at my old high school. Sort of.

By the teacher's desk I noticed a windowless wood door, "Guidance" written across it in black paint. I was confused for a minute. Guidance offices had always been in plain, rather annoying, sight at my old school. I tried to remind myself that this was a new school, not St. Anothony's Academy, and turned away from the door, trying to read a poster at the back of the room from a distance, when I heard the door swing open behind me.

I spun around, expecting to find a teacher, but instead found another student. A male one. A male student I was, suprisingly, not relatively afraid of. He was tall, lanky, but obviously had muscle - _Very well-defined muscle_ - with dark brown hair that hung over the top rim of his glasses. I wondered why he wore glasses, my immedate thought being that he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen. The glasses, not that I minded, hid his eyes fairly well.

He was cute.

"Um, hi," I managed. He was staring at me. "I'm, uh, Amy Fleming."

"Ty Baldwin," the boy said.

Still staring.

"Mrs. Elaine told me to, uh, come here...after third period," I stammered. "Something about a senior guide or...or something like that, I think..."

"Yeah, guide," Ty said. "Mrs. Achers asked me to do it."

I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes clouded a bit at the mention of the teacher.

"Well, um, I have, uh, no clue where room...325 is," I said, limply holding up my schedule. "Creative Writing."

"I know, I'm in that class, too," Ty nodded. "It really isn't that hard to find your way around. Room 325 is on the third floor. It's just a matter of figuring out which way the numbers go."

I nodded, dumbstruck. I wasn't sure _why_ I was dumbstruck, either.

"Come on, I'll show you."

I let Ty pass me before I followed him out of the room. He started left, and I had to hurry to catch up with his long strides.

"So, um, who's the Creative Writer teacher?" I asked. "And what is the difference between Creative Writing and English?"

"Mrs. Leonard," Ty replied. "She's...kind of cool, I guess. That's not even the right word; she's just a lot easier to deal with than most of the other teachers. And I have no idea."

I nodded wordlessly, feeling his eyes on me.

"Do you like to write?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "I guess. I did a lot of short story writing back home."

"Where are you from, exactly?"

I was quiet for a moment.

"Baton Rouge," I finally replied.

"Louisiana?" he sounded a bit confused.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't help it. "No, Maine."

He gave me a lopsided grin that made my heart skip a beat.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he said. "I won't mess with you."

"You better not?" I grinned at him, and his step faltered.

Slowly, I felt my backpack sliding off my shoulder, and I shifted it back.

Too late. The black bag fell to the floor with a loud smack, and, almost instantly, I heard my iPod go off. I cringed, glancing at Ty, who grabbed it before I could and held it out to me, waiting. I reached for it, the song playing through the earbuds of my MP3 registering in my head as he gave me a small smile of amusement.

_You take your secret smile_

_The one that turns me on_

_Hey girl, you've been what I've waited for_

That was it. I'd found the perfect song.

_Not the best I could have done, but __**some one**__ was rushing me! Yes, she moved a little fast, but through my side of the story you get a better idea of that later ;) If all goes has planned..._

_**High Maintence Woman**__ by Toby Keith_

_**Picture To Burn**__ by Taylor Swift_

_**Riot**__ by 3 Days Grace_

_and __**Secret Smile**__ by Rascal Flatts_


End file.
